Better Than Nothing

I might have seen Hortense the other day. She was in a small quandary, poor thing,  barely adequate for this time of year.  Hortense has been hanging out for the postman for weeks now, hoping he'd come around but he hasn't and her mailbox has lain empty for quite some time .  Hortense retains her unflagging optimism, although it was sadly dented by the circumstances of her dismissal from the Oscar Beetroot Band (*). Quite why she lit the torch for her last cabaret song is a mystery to us all, and given that the Poisoned Ferret burnt to the ground during the third chorus, it is a mystery which must remain unsolved. Every year since, she lights a candle on the anniversary, sets fire to the curtains, and watches the Fire Brigade put it out with their big hose.


It's better than nothing.


Much like the jam session last Sunday. A quiet afternoon threatened, with everyone away for Easter, no bass, no drums, but singers and saxaphones a'plenty, Bob,  Marion and meself on keys, all upstaged by the return of (cue trumpet) Peter Dann, anonymous author of the great Melband put-down, and gentle blower of the silver bugle - we just had to pin back the lug'oles and listen.  POCKOTL held court at the back of the bar and Al amused himself at the drum set. Whilst it is generally accepted that there is a beat in a bossa, Al is still working out which part of the bar it should be in (**). 


Singers on the day were Deb, Maria, Lisbeth, Sonny (blues)  and (cue tonsils) one time jammer Amanda whose knee is no longer crook, and whose singing never was.. Other familiar faces in the gathering included the avuncular Mark, and Peter, one of the few carpenters who can still count to ten. Welcome back.


It was all quite a bit better than nothing.

(*)  No consideration of the Balkan conflicts of the Nineteenth Century would be complete without at least one reference to the Oscar Beetroot Band, although I am not sure why.
(**)  In the corner, next to the piano. Hortense could show him where to put it in a flash.

On Neitzsche, numbers and the jam session du jour (that's Sunday to you)

The venerable Friedrich , philosopher and misogynist (*), held the opinion that numbers do not exist. There cannot be two of anything as each thing is unique. It is a little known fact that old FN was keen on the drums as a young man, and once played in  the infamous Oscar Beetroot band that contributed almost nothing to the rise of subversive cabaret in pre war Berlin.  There can be many reasons why this fact is little known, not least of which is that it is entirely untrue. But I digress.

Numbers, yes, Hortense. All different, as they should be. And a fair few of them got trotted out on Sunday arvo at the Leinster Arms, watering hole of the impoverished and nondescript (amongst others.).  Summertime, Autumn Leaves, Sugar, The Old Country, (solo by Col, reprise by Lisbeth), Night and Day (Marieke). Keef on saxinet and/or clariphone,  Uncle Jack turning up late and blowing a few bent notes (as you have to on a trombone) Michelle (p) and Rachel (v) romping through the song book (Route 66, Stand By Me and a few others)  Deb bouncing about in fine form, and Glen eventually getting up to bossa and bop on his new drum set. There was dancing, needless gossip, rumours and red wine, (and Maria who didn't sing whilst I was there) . And don't mention the bass player, Frank, whoops I just did. Well, he was in fine form, as ever.

Next Sunday, we are all going to finish in time to go to Paris Cat to hear Bob Sedergreen's singers class perform. If you haven't been before, this can be a lot of fun, as everyone drags out their maiden aunts, friends surplus to requirements, husbands, wives and pets, complete bluddy strangers and that weird waiter from the Indian takeaway  taxi rank that you picked up last Tuesday. A polyglot crowd to listen to some polyglot singers.

All different

Nietzsche would have approved.


     (*)    " Woman was God's second mistake."   Friedrich Nietzsche